


The Heuristic Hawk

by Turdle



Series: The Soldier's Element [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Canon - Manga, Canon: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Pre-Canon, Science, Young
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 23:06:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turdle/pseuds/Turdle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young Riza Hawkeye follows her father as they discuss plants and pupils. [A request for Bertie and his little girl. Part of The Soldier's Element 'Verse]</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heuristic Hawk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Luckeh](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Luckeh).



> Heuristic - "find" or "discover"; refers to experience-based techniques for problem solving, learning, and discovery.

“Papa,” Riza said quietly, clumsily forming her father’s favorite phrase, “- _why_ does fall turn the leaves so many colors?”

For a moment, Berthold Hawkeye stopped in his tracks. They had been strolling through the woods behind the Hawkeye manor for some time now, and it was all Riza could do not to ask every question that struck her. At seven years old, she had just become big enough to start reading more and more books on her own, but they never answered all her questions, not really. There were always more to be had, and her father seemed to encourage this, on the occasions that they took their leisure time outside.

 _It was good,_ her Papa had said, _to ask many questions about the world._ It showed healthy scientific interest, and best of all, there was no denying the way her father’s deep set eyes would glimmer in approval whenever she was thinking as a scientist might. Berthold rested his palm atop her head, and paused, looking up at the canopy of autumnal reds and oranges above them. Riza looked up, wiggling to the tips of her toes as she did so, her father’s hand still pressed to the top of her crown of golden hair. 

“The seasons are changing, little bird.” He said calmly, as she rocked back to her heels, and sighed. “Leaves are green when they feed off of sunlight. That’s called _photosynthesis_ ,” Berthold said, as Riza nodded, mouthing the word on her own. It was a strange one, but she liked the way it sounded. “-And when winter comes, there won’t be enough sunlight for the leaves to survive. They’re slowly dying, and turning red and orange and yellow.” 

“Because they are dead?” That seemed rather unsettling. Riza shifted again, pulling at her pinafore and dress before her father removed his hand, and smiled slightly, continuing their walk. 

“They stopped photosynthesis, and the wastes of the leaves are not green. So yes, they will wither and fall off. But in spring, you have green trees, don’t you?” 

Riza considered this thoughtfully. She tried to remember last spring, and the scent of day lilies in the wild gardens of their backyard. There had been pretty, vibrant flowers and darting, iridescent hummingbirds. If she thought very hard, she supposed everything _had_ been green. But she hadn’t taken it into much consideration. “Yes, Papa. They grow back, and take sunlight again.” Leaning over, Riza bent down to pick up a leaf from the ground to pocket for later examination. 

Her father nodded curtly, hands folded behind his woolen suit jacket. Riza scrambled to catch up to his longer strides, and smiled to herself, proud that she had asked a _good_ question. The fallen leaves crunched under her black shoes, and she followed her father’s lead, and linked her hands neatly behind her. 

The woods were slightly chilly, but she had bundled up with thick ivory stockings and a large grey coat that her father had said he had hoped she would eventually grow into. It had been brand new that fall, and Riza had been delighted by its heft and weight, and thick, knobby buttons that sat in the front of it. She wore a scarf her father told her her mother had knitted once, before she was born. It was blue, like the crisp autumn sky, and she pulled it close to her neck as they walked together. 

“My turn for a question, Riza.” Her father said quietly, as they rounded the path that came towards the chilly pond that was sometimes inhabited by ducks, in the right weather. 

“Yes?” Riza answered brightly, feeling excited he was going to ask _her_ something. 

“How did you feel about the last alchemist who visited our home?” Berthold asked, walking on the far edges of the pond banks to quietly point out the cat tail bushes with a tap of his fingers in the right direction.

Riza made a face as she examined the bushes - _botany_ , her father had said, was the study of plants, which she still remembered, because he had told it to her. “It was alright, Papa. Mister Leilding was ‘well-mannered’ and very polite like the Governess says, but…” She didn’t know how to put it, “He is very _dry.”_ She said honestly.

At this, her father chuckled mildly. “So he was. But you like it here in Ashford, don’t you? I was thinking that perhaps I should take on students.”

Riza blinked, perplexed. “Students? Besides me?” This was most worrisome. They had a Governess who came in a few times during the week to make sure Riza’s education was up to par, and that she would be admitted to the proper Grammar School and Preparatory Academy, but on the whole, Riza preferred the moments when her father stopped his own studies to take her aside and discuss everything with her. It had become doubly fun, since the moment she had learned to read properly, and then her Papa had indulged her in all sorts of luxury books about anything her wildest imaginations would entertain. This week, it had been _botany_ , but last week, it had been _space_ , which her father called _Astronomy_. Papa couldn’t teach her how to stitch or even completely explain what fork to use at a fancy dinner, but he knew all sorts about bugs, and plants, and chemistry, and even politics. 

It was a simple truth that her father knew everything fascinating about the world that there was to know; and if he shared it with someone else, there might be less time for _her_. Riza’s face fell a little at the thought.

“Maybe just one or two,” Her father corrected. “Don’t look so crestfallen, little bird. I would continue teaching you as well, until you went to school.” 

“What if they are dreadful, and dull, papa?” Riza whined, with a slight frown. “What if they only ever have one thing inside their heads?”

“Well, then they would not be a very good scientist, or a very good alchemist.” Berthold reasoned out for his daughter. Riza nodded in agreement, and then swept up beside her father as he turned to round the last bend of the pond and head home. 

“Papa is the best alchemist there is. He knows so many things.” She said firmly. 

“Thank you, Riza.” He smiled. “We could try searching for the right sort of student to have around. You and I can tutor different students for a few weeks at a time, and when we find one we both get along with, they can stay and learn, how about that?” 

Riza nodded curtly, blonde bangs slipping over her eyes as she did so. “Papa will teach the _second_ best Alchemist in the whole world.”

“Well,” Berthold remarked. “We shall see about that.” It would be awhile before they would find a worthy student, but in the meantime, Riza supposed, it was still up to the two of them to finish covering the day’s lesson with plant specimens back at the house. 


End file.
